Garden of Shannon

Mother and daughter relationships can be complex nonetheless deeply transformative.

At the tender age of ten I knew the woman that birthed me did not take pride in motherhood. Being the neighborhood carouser who was always searching for love in all the wrong places was part of her religion. Abandonment was a part of mine. I knew I had to get away from her. I could no longer continue having my spirit broken by a woman who did not want to love me properly.  I could not wait to go off to college next year to start a life of my own. Become who I always wanted – to be loved, to be educated, and to live simply.

 Yoli expressed this to me when I was about thirteen, maybe fourteen years old. We were at home; I was sitting at the kitchen table reading when she brought it about herself to make dinner that evening. A necessary chore she was not used to managing. Something that did not come to her naturally. I am usually the one who does all the cooking and cleaning while she struts about the house like an evil stepsister playing dress up for the many suitors she went out with every weekend. She was successful in that regard. Yoli liked to talk about three things – the men in her life, what her life would be like without me, and her tiresome job as a waitress. She sat at the kitchen table with red eyes, wearing her favorite teal dress and messy black curls that were starved of luster, drinking wine out of a chipped coffee mug while grading cheese. Yoli was making the only meal she knew how to make, tacos. She looked slightly mad and maudlin. A devil in a blue dress who had gotten bad news. Maybe she did. It was Saturday night, and she was in the house. No bars. No gambling.  No men. No fun.

Many people knew her inadequate ways when on these nightly leisure activities. Our family never lets up on their knowledge of such matters. Her folks make wisecracks of the woman Yoli has become. She always seems to brush them off with a sly smile, a waving away of her hand and a sip of a stiff drink.

“I wish I would have gotten an abortion.” Yoli voices her opinion in a casual way while cutting mushy tomatoes in a drunklike manner.

 I wanted to ask Yoli in a smart way why she had not, but I do not know if I was ready for her to spill out the rest of her truth. I have not mastered the skill of masking my hurt. That is something I aggressively continue to work on unless the feeling of emotional numbness prevails. Vulnerability opens you up to plenty more monsters and I was getting my apprenticeship with one at home.

“Now that I’m here you can put me in a box and place me on a street corner with a sign that says, ‘free kid,’ like they do cats.” I could not help myself.

“You ain’t sayin’ nothin’ but a word,” the lush spat at me while she poured herself another glass of red, filling the cup all the way to the brim and standing up to turn on the stove to overcook the ground beef as usual. Thank goodness I was able to check out cookbooks from the library.

My bewilderment went above and beyond when it came to Yoli and I.  Since childhood, I tried understanding her dread towards me. We silently and resentfully dined together. She left the table without a word, and I cleaned up after both of us. The nighttime routine. This time however, I went to my room completely bothered by her words. Like a hit dog I lay on my bed with sadness and induced self-pity until slumber crept up on me.

◊

Our deteriorating two-bedroom farmhouse seemed lifeless. It was midafternoon and Yoli was quiet in her room, and I was like a mouse in mine. An hour later she walks into my room without notice. Her hair and makeup are done, wearing the same red dress with black heels. It was the exact ensemble from the other night, this time Yoli had bright spirits about her, which the outfit complimented. Once again, being the ‘Jackie Brown’ lookalike suited her well. Her lovers would be drooling all over her wherever she went. I just hoped that she did not bring one home this time.

“I’m goin’ out and don’t know when I’ll be back,” I sit on my bed and look at her with a face that cannot be read for emotion. I could go over to my grandparents for company, but I did not want their kind of fellowship – loud chain smokers who always had company, talking bad about everyone they knew while watching Good Times. It was a ritual that I could not participate in, and I was better off leaving them to their vices, remaining in my own energy. We had no cable, but we had a few DVDs and books. It would be another lonesome night but at least there would be peace and comfortable quietness to the home for the time being.

Later that night, I thought about what Yoli could possibly be doing. She had a slight routine when she was out – gambling, calling a lover to save her from her small debts, and going out on the town with her beaux for dinner and drinks. If things went well, he may stay with the guy all night or bring him home for a nightcap and burnt breakfast in the morning. She loved to come home and brag about her raunchy rendezvous.

“Troy bought me these new shoes. So pretty, ain’t they?” Yoli said one night while sitting at her vanity wearing her black dress gown, trying on her new black suede open-toe sandal heels. She strutted across her room, looking at herself in the full-length mirror next to her bedside. Showing them off to me.  I did not have a mirror in my room. I did not have any new shoes either. The bottom of the soles was coming off the two pairs that I own.

I also wonder if Yoli was eating better than I was right now. I had a can of Pinto beans warming up on the stove with tomatoes, cheese, and a piece of toast from this morning’s leftover bread. I called it my favorite apocalyptic meal. Food never lasts us long. The few ‘good’ men Yoli would have over would clean us out. So, I made it a habit of stashing cans of food in my room. This is where the beans came from – a shoebox in my bedroom closet.

After eating dinner at the table I make my way to the living room to put on a movie that will help take my mind off things, a comfort film of mine – Harlem Nights. I could never get tired of seeing Eddie Murphy in this film or any other film for that matter.

During the movie I must have gone into a deep slumber lying on the couch.  I woke up on the couch to Yoli splashing a cup of cold water on my face and Quick finding Tommy Smalls dead in his apartment.

“Whatya’ you playin’ at girl? With that small ass pajama dress on tryin’ to seduce my guest. Get up and go to your room.” I guess I should have known she would be bringing someone over.

Without saying a word, I do as I am told. I look up and see a strange black man with red eyes and a gummy smile. He is tall and lanky, smelling of cigarette smoke, whiskey and cheap cologne.  He is not an attractive man. Gazing down at me, he pulls hard candy from his pocket and offers his hand to me as if I am some five-year-old, and this gesture is his hello for me. I shake my head meekly, give him half a smile, and head to my room. Tonight is one of those nights where I will be sleeping with my bedroom door locked.  

The next morning, I woke up to the front door slamming shut, a car starting and driving off. Yoli sat at the kitchen table. She had made the peculiar man breakfast before he started his day, a good woman she was to the wrong people.

“Clean this kitchen up, I have to get ready for my shift.” At least the woman was doing some cleaning somewhere if not here. Waitressing is where she made money. Her tips went to paying bills, keeping her looks up, and gambling. Several years working as a waitress and she enjoyed it. She met plenty of men through her job. Some good, some bad, some single, and many of them married. Yoli did not discriminate against no man.

“Let me tell you somethin’ You’ll need to start payin’ for your way around here. I don’t care how you do it. Whether you waitress, work at McDonald’s or sell your cat. I can’t keep takin’ care of both of us. By next month either you have a job or get out of my house.” Yoli was already dressed in her work attire, smoking a cigarette after breakfast.

“I’m sure I can get a part-time job somewhere after school.” I lean against the countertop with my arms crossed looking at her with my infamous deadpan expression. That was the only countenance I carried for her these days.

“Good.” Yoli sat at the kitchen table. She ashes out her cigarette on a piece of burnt toast from her plate.

“Is there anything left over?” I look at the stove, seeing dirty, empty pots and pans.

“None for you. Clean all this up,” mommy dearest stood up, checking her face in the compact mirror she pulled out of her purse, gathered her sweater in the living room and headed for the door without saying anything else to me. Sixteen years of existence and I have never heard Yoli say I love you. I do not know why I waited for her to say it at this moment. I was desperately reaching for something that was not there – endearment. But then again, I never spoke those words to her either. We were both missing the mark.

◊

A week has passed since I spoke to Yoli about finding work. Yesterday, I took the bus to the library to fill out job applications – McDonald’s, a deli place, and a hole-in-the-wall burger joint called Jesse’s Burgers which was few blocks from where we live. I hoped to get the job at Jesse’s because I could easily walk to work and eventually save for a bike. Yoli was not in the business of giving me rides. She always complained about gas money. I did not want to keep waiting for the bus to come; it never came on time anyway. All three places told me they would call by the end of the week, whether I got the job or not. It was Tuesday and I was staying close to the phone these days.

It has been two days since Yoli has been home. I sit in my room listening to the radio and flipping through Jet magazine; the beauty of the week has always been inspiring to me. Having your picture posted in a nice bikini of such a popular magazine was something to be cherished by us ‘everyday’ black girls working and going to school. Representation matters and Jet was doing it well. I often got caught up thinking about submitting my photo to the magazine, wondering what my introduction would be. Sammi. Eighteen. From Pearson, Arizona. Is going to school to become a librarian. When she is not in school, she is flipping burgers, cleaning house, and reading books on her dilapidated porch. I closed the magazine, daydreaming again. It would be a year until I went to college, assuming I could get a scholarship, I was hoping for. My grades showed I could. If not, I would get a decent job and work my way up.

“What the hell have you been doin’ all day?” Yoli walked into the house, tipsy at four in the afternoon. She staggers over to the kitchen table, setting her purse down and flopping herself on the sofa in our quaint living room with old furnishings.

“I went to school and came home and cleaned up a bit.”  I was wiping the coffee table, trying to make myself look busy even though I had wiped it clean twice already.  

“School needs to be longer like my damn job.”  She sits down at the table, pulls a cigarette from her purse, lights it and takes her first puff. I witness my mother looking at the book on the coffee table that I was reading earlier at school during my lunch period.

“You know, I use to be just like you. Readin’ them books all day, everywhere. The library. At the café. At the park.” Yoli seems to be feeling nostalgic today.

“What is your favorite book?” I had never seen Yoli read a book, let alone a newspaper article. She was finally sharing something with me besides the men she went out with.

“It doesn’t matter. I haven’t read in years.” Yoli continues puffing her cigarette and exhales the smoke in my face.

“I need to shower. Cook somethin’, I got a few groceries. Don’t burn nothin’.” The woman was churlish. I was getting my hopes up for something that would never come. At least there is food in the house now.

Yoli bought two packs of ground beef, two onions, six cans of vegetables, a loaf of bread and vegetable oil. I cooked hamburger steak with onions and homemade gravy. A can of corn and toast on the side. A simple recipe from a cookbook I checked out a few weeks back. We sat down and ate dinner. She made snide remarks here and there about the food yet finished everything on her plate. I cleaned up the kitchen. She sat in front of her vanity listening to jazz.

“When you are done cleanin’ up, come in here,” Yoli shouted from her bedroom. I was already finished so I headed straight towards her room. She was powdering her wrists, neck and inner thighs with perfume.

“Smell this. A good friend of mine bought this for me. He stopped by my job just to drop it off.” A good friend of hers was code for a man that was lusting after her, nothing else.

“It smells good.” I stood beside Yoli smelling her wrist. The powder gave off scents of lavender and vanilla. It smelled sweet and cozy, like a warm hug.  Something she had never offered me.

“When you start going out and meetin’ boys they will get you nice things too.” Yoli was now rubbing Olay cream on her face.

“I am sure. If I do somethin’ for them.”

“You insultin’ me?” 

“No. I didn’t mean it like that.” I was quick to correct myself. I was in no mood to piss her off and did not need another long school night.

“Well, men always want somethin’ so you’re right about that, but don’t be getting smart with me. Don’t judge me either. You are a woman and will learn the harsh ways of this world, then let’s see if you are talkin’ that same mess after you start livin’ your adult life.”

I had no response to her statement.  I lowered my head and thought about what she was saying. I learned something new about the woman that birthed me.  

“Is that why you are always gone, so you can get nice stuff?”

“Somethin’ like that. It’s a lot deeper than what you will ever understand. Leave it alone and go to your room.” Yoli turned the lamp off at her vanity and walked to her full-size bed, which had just a pillow and a white sheet for summer. In the winter, she had the most comfortable goose down feather blanket, which she only let me use once during a snowstorm. We had no heat source but the oven. Yoli made spiked apple cider and let me drink some to stay warm. We listened to Billie Holiday on the radio all night without saying a word to one another. That was one of the few nice gestures Yoli extended to me. The next day she cursed me out because she could not find her necklace and thought I took it. I learned to take the good with the bad.

“The Color Purple” Yoli blurted out before I was about to close the door to her bedroom.

“You asked me what my favorite book is earlier, The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Close my door.” Yoli was softening towards me. This could be the start of a lovely relationship, talking about books. I could not wait to go to the library to check some out.  

◊

The next night Yoli, once again, could not be alone. She had invited another ‘good fella’ to the house for drinks and dinner. I wondered what she would cook since she was not quite good at it. It did not matter. She would tell me to make myself presentable. More than likely, Troy would bring over dinner and drinks for all of us. He came around quite often. Yoli would then send me to my room once we finished eating together like some happy, suburban family. We all knew we were on the opposite spectrum of that family portrait. I disliked when she did such things. Troy was a short man, round with kind eyes and a bulbous nose. He had a sort of sweet disposition and loved to converse. He was very fond of my mom. Always taking her out. Showing her a good time. When he looks at his seductress, he gets this wonder in his eyes especially when she dances for him in the living room on occasion. Looking at her with amazement as if she was some Hollywood actress. As if he was in a trance. ‘He is a good friend to me,’ Yoli says. ‘He is an electrician. He loves fishing. His favorite show is Sanford and Son, and he is a married man.’ Trouble was always nearby, even if it came in a charming package. At least the woman knew how to keep the lights on. Don’t judge, Sammi.

Once in my room I decided to write some lines and journal down my goals. It is September and I will get a big head start on what I want to achieve for the year to come.  I sat on my bed and looked around my room for my journal. In my very little space, I had a daybed, a small desk that sat in front of the only window that looked out to the desert. Cactus and tumbleweed everywhere. I have a cracked bookshelf in the corner that holds my books, small trinkets, and few cassettes that lie next to my boombox. There was nothing special about my room. It mimicked a guest room at a drab motel than my own bedroom. I did not have many possessions to decorate my room the way I wanted. Other than a color photo of Van Gogh’s The Sunflowers in a ten by twelve chipped gold trimmed frame I bought at a yard sale for two dollars that was placed on the wall opposite my bed. Other than that cheap portrait my walls were bare. I adored sunflowers. I had come to love them when seeing them along the way to my bus stop each day at a neighboring house. There these golden angels stood in the front yard lined up in a row – a lovely garden fence. The sturdiness of the stems showing its strength. How tall they were right beside me and the beautiful yellow flower that looked up to the sun as if they were waiting for answers from God. A simple luxury I was excited to partake in before school. Sunflowers were my proverbial sisters. We had a few things in common – we are young, we held our heads up high to the sky and remained resilient through it all. Once we fully mature, we would face east, go the direction I planned on heading for college.

Moving from bed to desk, I open the drawer and pull out my journal, which is a regular composition notebook I use for school. I flip to a blank page and start writing some goals down.

1992 Goals

• Get a job to help Yoli pay bills
• Start filling out college applications
• Save money to buy a bike
• Build a loving relationship with Yoli.
• Live happily ever after having Yoli’s love and respect
• Work on repainting and repairing the house, together.
• Plant sunflowers

I thought about the other night. It was the first time Yoli spoke with me about something personal about herself without getting too upset. A relationship was being built. I close my journal, say a prayer, and go to bed. There was a little something to look forward to now.

◊

I am woken up to jazz playing from Yoli’s bedroom radio, dishes clinking, and a burning smell. I open my door and I see Yoli prancing around the kitchen as if she does not have a care in the world, even if she is burning the hashbrowns. The woman was always getting distracted and was never good with timing. Troy, having finished his breakfast, stood up from the kitchen table, walked over to my mom, and told her to think about what he said last night. He gave her a kiss and stuffed what seemed to be money in her robe pocket. He waved me goodbye with his Colgate smile and left our humble bed and breakfast. Soon I would come to have a conversation about men staying over, but not today. She was in a good mood. We were making strides, and I was not willing to mess things up.  

“I am only workin’ a few hours today. I’ll be home by two. I thought we would have a girls’ night in. Hair, nails, music and movies.” Yoli nervously walks towards me like I am a dangerous animal in a cage she admires. She looks at me with kind eyes, not knowing whether to hug me or not. She does not.

“I sat down and had a good talk with myself. I have not been there for you, and I need to be. You only have one childhood, and I want to make the rest of it good for you.” This energy was new to me. This was not the woman I was used to, but I could easily become accustomed to her.

“I was thinking the same thing.” I said eagerly, though her change of character gave me pause.

“With my tips tonight, we will order in. Here’s a few bucks. Go get some face masks, nail polish and other stuff for tonight. We can watch The Five Heartbeats. Mhm that fine ass Leon.” Yoli hands me twenty bucks to spend, goes to her room to finish dressing, and is out of the door in ten minutes’ time.

◊

Today is Friday. While Yoli is working, I go to school. Afterward, I quickly run errands. I am expecting a call from two other places. I hurry to the library to check out a couple of books for the next few weeks. Last, I take the bus to Walgreens and back home. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. One of these places had to call. Yesterday McDonald’s reached out, saying all positions had been filled but they would keep my application on file.  I was waiting for the deli to call, the burger joint, especially.

About forty-five minutes later I got the good news. I was offered the job at Jesse’s Burgers and would be starting on Tuesday since the trainer would be off on Monday. I would be making $3.40 an hour working a couple of afternoons each week after school. I had to thank God that things were starting to align for Yoli and me.

I sit on the porch reading ‘The Color Purple,’ while I wait for Yoli to come home. The story so far is a sad one. The characters and writing style, powerful. If this was Yoli’s favorite book, then the woman knew pain, and she had more depth than what I thought.

An hour had passed until Yoli finally came home. She was in good spirits, just as she had been when she left the house this morning. The woman shouted at me from her car for help. I see bags of food, bags filled with household necessities, and bags filled with beauty products.

“I got a job working after school at Jesse’s Burgers.” I lead with good news to keep up with the cheerful energy in the room.

“That’s good! The extra help is goin’ to make things easier around here.” Yoli stood at the kitchen table, taking items out of grocery bags. She was in her work clothes – a clean white pressed top, and a black skirt that was too short, just how she liked it. This is what brings the good tips in, she would say. Yoli then pulls out a bottle of wine and says we are going to celebrate. We did not have wine glasses, but we had several mugs that we drank everything from. Yoli pulls two mugs out and pours Boone’s Farms wine in them.  

“A toast to my daughter Sammi and her new job, and…” there was a pause. She stares at me with her drink raised and a nostalgic smile, as if she was thinking back on something.

“And to gettin’ to know the beautiful young lady in front of me, finally.”

“Cheers.” We clinked mugs and drank up.

We continued enjoying the evening together. We sat and watched The Five Heartbeats in white, matching pajama gowns she bought while we painted each other’s toenails red. We put on face masks, and she recalled her childhood days in school. Surprisingly, she let me have a second glass of wine. Yoli was quite the scholar before she met a boy who would take her virtue and her dignity. Yoli turned up pregnant at age sixteen. The school board believed Yoli would have been a bad influence on other students, so they thought it best to remove her from school. My grandparents, disappointed, made sure that Yoli would take care of her child. She started working as a waitress a few weeks after her expulsion. The boy who impregnated Yoli – my father, seemed to get off scot-free.  The boy and his parents left town to avoid dealing with the community criticisms and backlash of it all. They were proud people from a small town and did not want their family’s reputation to be tarnished by a mistake their son made. I suppose it was easiest to start again somewhere new, where no one knows anything about you. Yoli sat on the couch with tears running down her cheeks.

“I resented that boy for so long it seeped into being a good mother to you.”

“We have plenty of time to make up for everything.” I went to the kitchen counter and grabbed a handful of Hershey kisses to share with the woman who was being vulnerable with me for the first time. I was becoming a happy girl.

“I always thought you hated me because you never wanted me to begin with…and that may be true because you were young.” I sat on the living room floor, opening up a Hershey’s kiss to eat.

“I would be lyin’ if I said anythin’ other than what you are sayin’. But I don’t hate you. I was young, desperate for attention. I wasn’t getting’ any of it at home and made dumb decisions because of it. I do not want you followin’ in my footsteps, Sam.” Yoli sat next to me, rubbing my back. Her hands were gentle.

 “Your grandparents did right by me the best they could but there was always so many family members livin’ with us that I felt as though I fell through the cracks. It was also suffocatin’ being around so many people all the time, even if it is family,” I was indeed Yoli’s daughter. I too disliked all the commotion that our family brought about. The arguing, the gossip and bullying. We were one in the same.

There was banging on the door that startled both of us. Whoever was on the other side seemed furious. Yoli stands up in a lazy, unamused kind of way as if she was expecting company. Yoli opens the door halfway. The person on the other side pushes it fully open, casting Yoli aside, and walked in as if she had appropriate business in our home. The woman was short and plump. She wore her hair in a pixie cut, had on a green T-shirt, and jeans shorts. The woman carried an open brown backpack purse. Looking at her standing next to Yoli, they were complete opposites besides race.

“Stella…what are you doin’ here?” Yoli blurted out to the woman she obviously knew.  

“You knew he was married. We work together. You are supposed to be my friend,” Yoli gave out a blank stare, looking at the woman as if she was speaking a foreign language. I stood in the living room, bewildered and shocked at the events happening in front of me.

“Troy doesn’t mean anything to me.” Yoli cried out with a sorrowful expression on her face.

“Really now? My husband thinks he is in love with your sorry ass and told me today he is leaving me with four kids, for you.”

“I never told him to leave…” The woman named Stella interrupted Yoli. She was fuming. Yelling and crying.

“People are right about you. You are a rotten woman. I used to defend your name to anybody who would try talking about you. But everyone is right. You are no good.”

“I think you should le…” Yoli interrupted me and told me to stay out of it.

“It was a mistake, Stella. He still loves you.” Yoli, still standing by the door, shrugs her shoulder as to show a nonchalant defeat.

“What the hell am I gonna’ do with four kids by myself?” The woman scorned stands in front of her friend with pain in her voice and trembling hands. Stella reaches for something in her bag, quickly takes it out, and points the black instrument at me. She shoots.

I feel a strong and sharp object piercing my body. A deep disturbance. A painful streak and high degree of heat insulating my insides. My body, like a sack of potatoes, falls to the floor. I am no longer resilient like my golden sisters, instead of standing strong, I lie on the floor looking up, thinking to myself and asking God why this is happening to me. I hear distorted cries from Yoli. I am afraid. There is too much blood. I feel cold.  Yoli is on the floor holding me in her arms. Her tears are dripping down onto my face. The last words I heard were my mother crying.  I’m sorry. The last word I can say is, mom. We both finally hit the mark, but I will never feel my mother’s touch again. I would never go east.